


recreationally outraged

by underwires



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Drug Dealing, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwires/pseuds/underwires
Summary: There’s a new drug going around the city of Ba Sing Se.Who knew Zuko would have a penchant for illegal substances.Or that the new waitress in Uncle Iroh’s tea shop would be the only person capable of ruining his perfectly orchestrated trip.





	1. skeleton boy

**Author's Note:**

> I have to stop making my faves take drugs, but oh well. Someone sue me. 
> 
> Written with the help of my lovely beta, [zokens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zokens)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko keeps his secrets close—his bruised ego, his thoughts about the new waitress, and his stash of the city’s cheapest illegal substance. 
> 
> Ba Sing Se is busy with life; the drugs just help dull its citizens for a bit. 
> 
> And Zuko might just be its latest victim.

The sun was rising in the crowded and bustling city of Ba Sing Se. 

To note, the city never sleeps, not even a wink. It is perpetually awake and in its worst moments, somewhat sleepy. But never asleep, _ never _ unconscious. It always moves and stirs, even the quietest of its citizens. 

Among all the residents of Ba Sing Se, Zuko knows this most of all. 

It’s not like he didn’t want to get some rest or silence the rapid thoughts in his head. It’s just difficult to lay still and wait for something that isn’t there anymore. 

It is horrible enough to live with his proverb-spitting Uncle Iroh on the second floor of his uncle’s newly acquired tea shop, The Jasmine Dragon. Much more, that his father kicked him out of the mansion in Caldera and never even answered his calls to ask for repentance, not even during Christmas. 

At this point, the idea of Santa being real was just as remote as to his father taking him back and letting him join the family business—which is why Zuko was exiled from home in the first place. 

Zuko winces and sighs at the recollection of his banishment and walks over to his bedside table. 

Hiding things in plain sight was a skill of his—things like his bruised ego, among others. 

The vintage Coca-Cola tin lunchbox he had from since he was little, sat on the lower level of the mahogany table. It used to be where his mother carefully packed lunches for him before she disappeared from their lives forever. 

Now, it was the only thing he had that reminded him of _ her. _

So he keeps his secret close. 

He opens the box and picks up a black leather pouch—big enough to hold trinkets, paper clips, and his stash of Momo. 

He takes a pinch of the greenish-purple herb, puts it in his pipe, and inhales. 

_ It’s only five o’clock in the morning, anyway, _he thinks. 

After his second hit, Zuko feels his world still, the calm before the storm. 

Today, he’s working in Uncle Iroh’s tea shop. It’s not exactly his first choice in regaining his father’s approval, but it was enough to get him by with his day-to-day expenses. Which, in fact, was just getting a baggie of Momo every other day or so. 

Inhaling illicit substances in a city where the police force was too visible for comfort wasn’t exactly part of Zuko’s plan, but it gets him by. 

He stretches from his Momo-induced haze and walks out the door before his nagging annoyance at everything begins to filter into his veins again. 

* * *

The Jasmine Dragon’s kitchen is already breathing fire before dawn, ready to service the countless patrons of Ba Sing Se’s finest tea shop. 

Uncle Iroh always found that greeting the sun with a ready heart and body was a great way to ensure success throughout the day. Plus, he knew how to make tea well—strong enough to wake up the inner _ chi _ of his customers, balanced with enough subtlety to relax their weary souls. 

Or as his regulars put it, “The best damn tea in all of Ba Sing Se.” 

Today was going to be another bright and busy day, Iroh knows it. 

He had been putting up “Help Wanted” posters all around the alleyways of the Lower Ring since last week. Iroh knew that he and Zuko can’t keep up with the high demand and foot traffic during early mornings and afternoons. So he took it upon himself to ask for a helping hand. 

The doorbell dings, signaling the entry of his first customer of the day. 

“Hi!” said the girl wearing a blue parka hesitantly, trying to see if anyone was already in the shop this early. “I’m looking for someone named, uh, Iroh.” 

Uncle Iroh peers through the kitchen window and beams, “That would be me!” And barrels his way toward the girl. 

“I’m Katara. I was wondering if you’re still looking for help here in your tea shop…I got this flyer a few days ago,” the girl said, gingerly clutching the tattered paper in her hands. 

“You’re in luck!” Iroh said optimistically, “No one has passed by to inquire. You’re hired!” 

“Really?” Katara said in disbelief, “You don’t need my resume? No interview? Just like that?” 

“My dear, serving tea requires love. I can see that you have a lot of it in you,” Iroh knowingly smiles at her. “You may call me Uncle Iroh for as long as you’re here. The aprons are at the back. I’ll tell you everything you need to know while we wait for my nephew.” 

* * *

Katara repeats to herself the instructions that Uncle Iroh patiently told her: greet customers warmly, guide them towards their table, give out the menus, then come back after five minutes to take their order. 

And lastly, not to take his nephew’s jibes too seriously. 

_ What on earth could that possibly mean? _Katara thinks to herself. 

* * *

Half an hour later, The Jasmine Dragon’s customers come filing in. 

Oolong, lychee, jasmine, different kinds of tea that are both familiar and foreign to Katara. 

Still, she finds it easy to greet everyone with as much warmth as to how Uncle Iroh welcomed her. 

“So you’re the new hire,” an unfamiliar voice interrupts Katara from her task of arranging the orders in the kitchen. 

Something inside her ticks, finally understanding what Uncle Iroh meant. 

She doesn’t know if she was supposed to feel pity for the boy but something about him pissed her off beyond reason. 

“So you’re Uncle Iroh’s nephew,” she says. 

He was tall as if he was bred to look down on people like her, as if he was quietly thinking, _ “Peasant,” _ with every word he spoke. His voice was low and raspy, by the looks of it, he had one cigarette too many. 

And his scar—it spanned from above his eyebrow to most of the skin of his cheek across his left ear, just added a few more notches to the boy's mysterious facade. 

“Zuko,” he says as if she was supposed to already know his name without an introduction. 

“Katara.” 

“The tea is getting cold,” he motions to the tray of tea sitting on the kitchen counter, ready to be bussed into the room filled with waiting customers. 

“Your apron is untied,” Katara huffs, picks up the tray, and shuts the kitchen door behind her. 

* * *

Most days were easy for Zuko. He had his non-negotiable duties: working at Uncle Iroh’s tea shop, doing chores in their apartment, and kicking himself in the head at any given moment. 

Those things were a breeze…until today. 

There was_ something _about the new girl that his uncle hired. 

She was…different. 

Not in the way that her skin made her look like she lounged in a pool chair every summer afternoon. And even if it was already autumn, her tan still shone through. 

Nor is it her piercing blue eyes, nor her unpracticed audacity to challenge him. 

_ No one _challenges him. 

The only thing he should be worrying about right now is how to go back home—to be welcomed with open arms, to have his honor restored, and to regain his father’s trust. 

He sighs. 

There was one way and only one way, he knows it all too well. 

Before his bags were thrown into the sidewalk and the massive gates were shut behind him, his father’s last words marked him. 

“Don’t you _ dare _come back home, Zuko. Not until you absolve your sins. You know what to do.” 

Three years after, his father’s ultimatum still rings clear. 

_ “Don’t you dare come back home until you find and kill them.” _


	2. cry baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegan bao buns aren’t the only things that stink in Katara’s life. 
> 
> Maybe it’s the dread of the city. 
> 
> Or maybe, it’s because Zuko treats her like shit no matter what she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should have, "everything stinks," as an alternative chapter title for reasons that will be obvious later.

Ba Sing Se is a city that never forgets. 

Its secrets hide in the sewers but its finest sinners walk in broad daylight, boasting of last night’s debauchery. 

The rich walk on the hungry and the innocent turn a blind eye on everything else. 

But Ba Sing Se thrives—on power, on corruption, and on other things that are better left unsaid. 

* * *

Toph doesn’t really care. 

Or at least, she tries not to. 

It doesn’t bother her that she ran away from home when she was barely thirteen. Much less, that she’s currently living with Katara who felt the need to act like her surrogate mother, even if Toph never asked her to. 

Toph can do things on her own. 

She knows that. 

Being blind doesn’t deter her from it. It only fuels her to prove people wrong. 

So she brings her walking stick around with her as an accessory. Toph doesn’t need to know if she’s about to bump into a person speed-walking while holding a hot cup of coffee, she’ll be the one to push him out of the way.

Her feet have memorized the vibrations of the city and her ears have gotten accustomed to the shrill panic that resonates across Ba Sing Se. 

The streets weren’t safe, Toph knows that. 

But that doesn’t stop her. 

Today, she’s making her way towards a park in the Lower Ring. 

It’s a surprise that the government even built a park there; with its fair share of homeless people living on the park benches, Toph was pleased to find an unoccupied bench for herself. 

So she waits and listens. 

She can hear the excited screams of the children in the playground, the snoring of the man sleeping two benches away from her, and the pennies splashing into the fountain in the middle of everything. 

_ What are wishes for, anyway,  _ Toph thinks.  _ I’m in control of my own destiny. No one but  _ me. 

Out of habit, Toph checks her pockets. 

A few minutes later, she hears familiar footsteps approaching her. 

_ Finally.  _

“You’re late,” Toph points out matter-of-factly to the boy who sits next to her. 

“Sorry, I got caught up.” 

“Don’t bore me with your sad excuses.” 

She pauses and lowers her voice, “Do you have the money?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

She can hear him fumbling through a wad of paper bills and slides it towards her hand. 

A quick count using her expert fingers assures Toph that he paid the right amount. 

“What do we tell Appa so that he could fly?” She double-checks. 

“Yip yip,” he says. 

Toph slowly slides a tiny baggie towards him. 

The plastic crunches into his front pockets and he stands up. 

“See you in a few days, mister,” Toph says to no one at all. 

* * *

A police car wails past Katara on her way to work. 

She remembers how her brother, Sokka, keeps talking about the growing prevalence of police visibility in their area. 

_ Who  _ are they really protecting? 

It doesn’t seem to be the citizens, Katara thinks. 

Every day, crime fattens itself in the streets of Ba Sing Se. But no one seems to notice it too much. 

But Katara and her brother do. 

The sounds of the city still send a chill through her sometimes; the memories of the past that she tries so hard to block off. But maybe, not hard enough. 

It was too early to get shell-shocked, so Katara briskly makes her way to the tea shop. 

_ There isn’t time to mourn what once  _ was. _ We have to look into the  _ now, _ Katara.  _

Uncle Iroh’s words interrupt her thoughts. 

A few days ago, Katara dropped a tray full of tea and cakes on the way to a table. 

Uncle Iroh was patient enough not to yell or even berate her. He just offered her that piece of advice and poured Katara a cup of tea to make her feel better:  _ There isn’t time to mourn what once  _ was. _ We have to look into the  _ now, _ Katara.  _

She was grateful to have found an employer who was as kind as Uncle Iroh. 

His nephew, on the other hand, was a completely different story. 

“You look awful today. Are you preparing to break some more teacups, Katara?” 

Katara sees Zuko perched on one of the kitchen counters, studying her as she ties her apron. 

“No, not really,” Katara says calmly. “I’m just getting ready to break your face if you speak to me like that ever again.” 

Zuko opens his mouth to reply, then shuts it decisively. 

Katara turns her back to him and picks up a broom. 

“What’s your problem with me, anyway?” Katara says as she sweeps the already clean floor. She knows Uncle Iroh does a second sweep before he closes the shop every night. 

“Nevermind,” Zuko replies. He slides himself off the counter and pushes the kitchen door open. “I don’t want to waste my breath on you.” 

Before Katara can launch herself at him, he disappears into the tea room to welcome the first customers of the day. 

* * *

The apartment is silent when Katara lets herself in. 

She figures that Toph might be out somewhere with her friend, Aang, or her brother since the three are practically inseparable, especially nowadays. 

Katara knows that Toph stopped going to college and is doing some odd jobs here and there, even if she doesn’t have to. Toph’s parents are as stubborn as their daughter in giving checks that aren’t welcome but secretly, very needed. 

Toph was able to get them a decent-sized apartment in one of the buildings in the Middle Ring. 

And because Toph and her parents pay for most of the rent, Katara does her share by cooking and keeping the house habitable. 

Before Katara could even begin chopping the vegetables for dinner, Toph bangs on the front door. 

“Katara! Let me in! I have food and company,” Toph practically yells. 

_ Oh no,  _ Katara thinks as her roommate, her brother, and Aang make their way to the kitchen. 

“We brought food!” Aang says cheerily as he lifts up one of the food containers and waves it in front of Katara’s face. 

_ Oh no.  _

At this point, Katara knows she shouldn’t be shocked anymore. 

Toph and Aang have a weird taste in food: ramen burritos, churro corndogs, and basically, anything that isn’t supposed to go together but have managed to find their way to be combined. 

Unfortunately, Katara doesn’t have the heart to say no to free food, even if it’s all mildly disgusting in her head. 

“What did you guys bring this time?” 

“You’ll love this Katara!” Sokka says excitedly. “Aang picked it out this time.” 

_ Oh no. _ Aang’s taste in food was the worst among all three. 

“We got vegan bao buns!” Toph exclaims. 

“Wow, that sounds delicious,” Katara lets out a breath of relief. 

“The catch is…it has jackfruit in it!” Aang says. “Jackfruit bao buns! It’s vegan, too!” 

Katara groans. 

“Can’t you guys just choose something  _ normal  _ once in a while?” 

“What’s the use of that, little sis? There’s so much food around the world, why not have fun with it?” Sokka teases as he ruffles his sister’s hair. 

“If you say so,” Katara sighs, accepting her defeat. “Now, help me set up the table, you dorks.” 

* * *

The green-orange herb in the plastic baggie that Zuko just scored smelled divine. 

Well, skunky, but in a good way. 

The way Momo stinks is how you can tell if it’s good or not—the fouler, the better. 

He’s alone in the apartment while his uncle is downstairs in the shop playing Pai Sho with the elderly gentlemen in the neighborhood. 

Zuko spent the evening trying to look for one functional lighter in his arsenal. 

_ Twenty lighters but not a single one works, _ Zuko thinks in annoyance. 

Finally, he finds an old Zippo in one of his back pockets. 

He stops and looks at the engraving on it. 

It was a fire logo; the one he’s seen his entire life. 

The one that hangs in the building where his dad’s corporation is; the symbol of their family’s power. 

The final reminder that Zuko still hasn’t gotten any closer to redeeming himself and that he was too sober to deal with it. 

So he lights up his pipe, inhales, and rests his head on his pillow. 

His demons come back in many curious ways, but this time, he just lets time pass by. 

He’ll deal with everything tomorrow. 


	3. acid rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toph is just doing everything to get a kick out of it. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Katara knows something is not right with Zuko. 
> 
> And she hopes her guess is wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the crackiest crack fic I've ever written so far. Enjoy! 
> 
> Written with the help of my lovely beta, [zokens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zokens) / [zutarasvengers](https://twitter.com/zutarasvengers)

City Police Commander Zhao knows that the city of Ba Sing Se is at his mercy. 

He is certain that his troops who have been religiously patrolling the streets would agree with him without hesitation. 

He and his men have seen the decay and the filth that has been seeping through the sidewalks. The evident demise of Ba Sing Se’s glory wasn’t supposed to dawn upon them so soon. 

Even the City Council of Five turns a blind eye to the screams of the mothers who have lost their husbands and sons so swiftly in the night. 

It’s not like Commander Zhao had anything to do with it. He was just doing his job. And he was doing a damn good effort at maintaining the city’s balance. 

There are three districts in the city for a reason. The Upper Ring rests in the well-deserved comfort of its affluent residents, the Middle Ring is as close to the suburbs as Ba Sing Se will permit, and the Lower Ring is where the lowly miscreants go to die. 

Commander Zhao doesn’t dictate the status quo, he only ensures that what _ was _ will still be what _ is. _In fact, power is where you are in the streets, on the sidewalk, and at home. 

And he knows that the pesky drug rings that have made the past few months miserable for him and his men, must pay. 

Alas, Commander Zhao would just have to rejoice for the small victories for the time being—taking down the biggest drug cartel in the city is too much of a great feat to be accomplished overnight. 

Plus, Drug Lord Ozai’s men have killed enough of his for the time being. 

This time, Commander Zhao seeks to snuff out the small-time impoverished drug dealers before shattering Ba Sing Se’s greatest threat: Ozai. 

* * *

_ Zuko will never forget the first time he ran. _

_ He had just moved into Uncle Iroh’s apartment that evening and he was so consumed by his guilt and anger that he wanted to explode—to break plates and throw precious china into a too-thin wall. _

_ But Zuko knew how to choose his battles wisely. _

_ So he pulled on a pair of sneakers, not even bothering to wear socks, and ran out the door. _

_ He sped past the flower shops, the cardboard houses, and the angry pedestrians until he lost track of where he is. But it didn’t stop him. _

_ Zuko pushed himself to move until he hurled and vomited out the pain and hurt that was fermenting inside him. _

_ When he was done, he wiped the spit off the side of his mouth and ran back to a different home, somewhere that was supposed to rescue him, but only turned out to be a deadly fire. _

* * *

It doesn’t take long before Katara notices the glaring inconsistency in the form of Zuko. 

He’d usually stumble into the tea shop, eyes red with last night’s nightmares, and would sloth his way through the daybreak orders. 

He was always much nicer in the mornings. 

By noon, Zuko would snap and bite back at any small comment Katara slid his way. 

Katara doesn’t know if she should be pleased with her progress at showing Zuko that she won’t back down to his continuous insults, but she was also unsure if she should be more patient with him. 

After his daily afternoon break, Zuko always comes back, calm as he was at the start of the day. 

It was a cycle that Katara couldn’t figure out—bloodshot eyes, the unholy amounts of water that he consumed, much more, the tea cakes that he sneaks into his mouth every now and then. 

And the _ calm? _ Zuko’s temporary pockets of silence are what bothers her the most. 

Sometimes, dear spirits…sometimes, he even _ smiles _ at her. 

Katara hopes he was undergoing some fever dream or was possessed by some demon, but whatever it was, she had a nagging feeling that the answers to Zuko’s mysterious actions were something she couldn’t just ask. 

She had to see for herself. 

So she waits, plans, and silently prays that it wasn’t what she thought it was. 

* * *

“It’s _ medicinal, _ you know,” Sokka tells Aang matter-of-factly. 

Aang replies in exasperation, “I know, Sokka! Why do you think I agreed to go around the city and have my head on a chopping block if it wasn’t _ good _ for other people?”

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be complaining. Everything’s unfair in this city.” 

To a point, Aang agrees. But he wasn’t sure what Sokka’s deal is most of the time. “What do you mean?” 

“You see those fat billionaires in the Upper Ring? They eat _ bread, _ Aang. While us, here, everywhere else in Ba Sing Se, we get their _ crumbs. _ And they expect us to be _ happy _ with that?” 

“The only way to even out the system is to beat them at it. We have to make our _ own _ bread,” Sokka continues. 

“I don’t know when you two ladies will stop fighting, but I’m getting bored,” Toph calls out from the backroom. 

Ever since the start of their “operations,” Sokka, Aang, and Toph started calling their hideout, “The Air Temple.” 

Obviously, Aang loved this nickname for their headquarters. For a guy covered in intricate blue tattoos, Aang still had the heart of a child receiving candy for the first time: light and hopeful. 

Toph never expected him to join the plans that she and Sokka have inherited from their mysterious benefactor, but she was thankful for his company, nonetheless. 

The past few months wrung their distribution close to dry. The police were everywhere, as well as the peril of the customers who would gladly sell out their favorite drug dealers for extra copper coins. 

That’s why Sokka came up with a plan to have an exchange rate system for the Momo operations. 

Toph, the ground crew, wasn’t allowed to take copper, silver, or gold coins which were the currencies used in Ba Sing Se. 

The people who wanted Momo had to find Aang and exchange coins for nondescript bills that Sokka printed. That way, they could track down people by using the serial numbers printed on the paper. 

The system was perfect. 

Nothing could go wrong. 

Even Toph, who was ever the doubter, was profoundly impressed by how well-thought-out everything was. 

She knew the whole thing was Sokka’s carefully crafted middle-finger to the powers-that-be in Ba Sing Se. For what reason, she doesn’t really care. 

She’s just here for the thrill of it. 

* * *

In the afternoon sun, the sidewalks of Ba Sing Se turn a beautiful shade of amber. It was the same orange-honey color of Zuko’s eyes. 

The picnic blanket that his uncle laid out in the park was soft and warm. 

The fallen leaves underneath him rhythmically crunch with the weight of his thigh, which was bouncing up and down in restlessness. 

He was bored out of his mind while he was waiting for Uncle Iroh to finish playing Pai Sho on the portable table that they assembled. 

Zuko knows that his uncle always looked forward to afternoons in the park. Pai Sho and tea always seemed to bring a smile onto Iroh’s tired face, and for some reason, Zuko was thankful for that. 

It meant that he didn’t have to put up with the elderly man’s proverbial outlook in life. Or the fact that his uncle reminded him of everything that his own father _ wasn’t. _

Everything seemed so simple now. 

There were no bodyguards, no unattainable expectations, and no constant disappointment anymore. 

But somehow, Zuko felt more lost than ever. And lonely. So fucking _ lonely _ that he couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. 

Zuko shakes his head, silently berating himself for letting his thoughts wander. There was no point in wasting time on things that will never come back. 

His only goal now was to make his father trust him again. 

He was Ozai’s_ heir, _for fuck’s sake. He was destined to breathe a new fire into the family business. 

This time, he won’t let his heart soften for the lives that would just be collateral damage to the expanse of their empire. 

This time, he is ready to_ kill _for it. 

And this time, he will do it without any hesitation. 


	4. grizzly bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara is getting a serious emotional whiplash from Zuko’s, well, _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This took quite some time but I hope you like it!

The city of Ba Sing Se used to be surrounded by trees. 

The city once had lush greenery enveloping all the Rings. Now, only the richest of the rich can buy themselves a good peek at a forest. 

Iroh misses the days when Ba Sing Se sang of hills upon hills of grass and rich fauna. Now, he thinks he’s lucky enough to sit under a wilting tree in the park. 

But he is grateful, nonetheless. 

_ A man walks with pride like a tree, Zuko, _ he once told his nephew. _ Tall and broad, but humble enough to sway with the wind and listen to its surroundings. _

For Iroh, it was easy to dance with the wind. 

Even after losing his son, his determination to do better showed itself when he took in his exiled nephew. How his brother can cast away his own son, he’ll never begin to fathom the thought. 

But Iroh cares for Zuko still, just as much as he would look after Lu Ten if he were still alive.

But he isn’t. 

Lu Ten is gone. 

And nothing can change that. 

* * *

Katara absent-mindedly runs a finger through the choker necklace her mother gave her before…well, _ before _ things turned to shit. 

It was the second day that Uncle Iroh was down with a terrible fever and Zuko made sure Katara knew that he was the boss of things. 

“My uncle is sick. I’ll be in charge until he comes back,” he says matter-of-factly the first morning that his uncle was too sick to manage The Jasmine Dragon. 

_ Great. _

_ Of course, Zuko will make sure that he takes any opportunity he can to lord over me, _Katara thinks to herself. 

The choker had a cerulean-colored band and a turquoise pendant rests in the middle of her neck and she often finds herself touching the cold thread whenever she’s miserable. 

And now is one of those moments. 

As soon as she stepped foot in the tea shop, Zuko had _ aggressively _ asked her to clean the toilets until they sparkled. 

To spite him, she followed his orders and made sure everything would exceed his expectations. 

“You missed one,” he trails his index finger on a dirty spot in the bathroom mirror. 

Katara lets out a frustrated breath. 

“It’s not as if that would make or break our customers’ rating of the shop,” she retorts. 

“Of course, it wouldn’t. But we have to go above and beyond what our competitors deliver. And _ this,” _ he points at the mirror again, “is not _ it.” _

Without another word, he briskly walks out, leaving Katara to feverishly clean the spot off the goddamned mirror. 

* * *

The afternoon was dull inside the tea shop. 

Everything seemed to slow to a stop after the morning’s bustle was done and customers pop in here and there. 

So Zuko was left to pester Katara with odd jobs every once in a while. 

_ Katara, do an inventory check of the tea and pots. _

_ Katara, rearrange the menus. _

_ The candle in Table 3 is almost out. Change it, Katara. Now. _

_ Katara, your apron is untied. _

And then the world shifts. 

“Katara, your apron is untied,” Zuko points out. 

“What, you’re gonna make me tie it _ and then _ boss me around even more?” Katara spits out. 

Zuko pauses. 

“No. I was going to offer if I could help you tie it.” 

_ What the fuck is this guy on? _

“Oh uh—I’m perfectly capable of tying my own apron, thank you very much,” Katara says as she tries to keep her composure, clearly baffled by what Zuko just said. 

“You know, if you just stopped trying so hard to be an asshole, you’re not so bad,” she continues. 

“Don’t hold your breath.” 

As always, Zuko has the last word. 

And there’s nothing Katara can do to change that. 

* * *

“I’m going out for a walk.” 

It was afternoon and it was time to awaken his soul, Zuko thinks. 

Or numb it. 

Whatever works. 

Recently, he bought a pen-like device where he can store Momo oil. 

It was Momo but even more potent. 

Technology was such a treat, especially when it came to Zuko’s choice of escape. 

So he passes by corner stores, inhaling and puffing out odorless smoke. 

His head was starting to float and the ice cream shop along the road looked so delightfully disgusting with his bubblegum pink and baby blue interiors. 

But what caught Zuko’s eye was the black-and-white magnetic letters that were stuck on its vintage refrigerator. 

Admittedly, Zuko wasn’t sure why he was so engrossed in the idea of buying a pack of a magnetic alphabet for the shop’s kitchen. But it looked like fun. 

Maybe, he can spell out insults at Katara so he didn’t have to verbalize them. 

A part of him isn’t sure why he’s even being mean to her, but it was easy. 

It was _ safe. _

* * *

When Zuko comes back to The Jasmine Dragon, Katara is cleaning one of the tables. 

Only two customers were seated in separate tables. 

As soon as she pops in the kitchen, Zuko calls her. 

“Look what I got.” 

He shows the pack of magnetic letters he bought and starts sticking them onto the refrigerator. 

“I even got _ words.” _

Katara stares at him dumbly as he arranges and rearranges the letters on the fridge. 

** _JASMINE. _ **

** _TEA. _ **

** _KATR. _ **

“I gotta grab another pack or two so we can spell out your name right.” 

Maybe Katara inhaled some toxic fumes while she was cleaning the bathroom or the apocalypse was approaching soon. _ Really soon. _

Only Zuko was capable of giving Katara a serious whiplash of emotions. 

But, huh, maybe he was trying to be nicer. 

Or maybe Katara was just dreaming. 

Whatever it is, it was a welcome change. 

Even if it was a bit. 

Even for a little while. 

** _WALK._ **

** _ITH. _ **

Zuko laughs. Maybe for the first time in front of Katara. Maybe for the first time because of what she said, or in this case, spelled. 

“We ran out of letters! I meant—”

“Yes, I’ll walk _ with _ you, Katara,” Zuko says patiently. 

Honestly, if Zuko wore a mood ring to reflect what state of mind he was on, it would explode within the first five minutes. 

And right now, Katara was about to explode as well. 

_ What the fuck does he want? _

* * *

Zuko and Uncle Iroh’s apartment was what Katara would describe as quaint. 

Off-white walls, potted succulents, and large windows. 

The interiors were bright, even in the setting afternoon sun. 

How Katara ended up agreeing to check on Uncle Iroh, was far beyond her now.

“Katara, it’s so great to see you,” the elderly man greets her warmly as he tries to sit up. 

“How are you feeling, Uncle Iroh?” 

“Better. Just like a dandelion in the spring.” 

“How was everything at The Jasmine Dragon while I was sick?” Iroh continues. 

Katara wasn’t sure if it was time to tell him about Zuko’s excessive bossiness or the fact that he had momentary lapses and was actually nice to her.

“I think Zuko handled everything well,” she said plainly. 

Iroh smiles. “In that case, Zuko, you and Katara should celebrate.” 

Zuko, who was clearing up folding some blankets nearby, immediately stopped and looked at his uncle, stunned.

“W—what?” 

“You can take some money from the shop register so you can treat Katara for dinner as a way of thanking her.” 

“For what, Uncle?” 

“For putting up with you while I was away.” 

Zuko frowns and looks away. 

“Oh, it’s alright, Uncle Iroh. Zuko and I were just going to take a walk after this. We—_ he _and I don’t have to go out for dinner. I’d better be going home soon.” 

“Is that so? Well, in that case, I shouldn’t keep you. Thank you for visiting me, Katara. I’ll see you in the shop tomorrow.” 

“Let’s go. I think my uncle needs to rest,” Zuko motions for Katara to follow him to the door. 

* * *

The city of Ba Sing Se is full of surprises. 

For once, Zuko feels a sense of comfort in getting to know a stranger. 

For once, Katara isn’t sure that she can control everything. 

As they walked towards the park in silence, the world just seemed content…for once. 

Even if it was for a little while.


	5. creature fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life’s a walk in the park until Zuko is walking beside Katara. 
> 
> No one said it was easy, but Katara was making it so damn difficult.

The minutes are days now. 

The time in what Zuko likes to call his exile, Ba Sing Se made sure the weeks felt like years. 

Now is no different. 

The silence is awkward and steely and very uncomfortable. 

There was no getting out of this because at this moment, Katara walking a few feet away from him and he’s not high enough for this. 

Zuko tries to act cool but “cool” was never his strong suit. 

“The leaves…they look different. Kinda nice.” He manages to stutter out. 

An unsteady pause. 

“It’s autumn. I think the leaves are supposed to do that.” Katara replies. 

“Yeah, what I meant to say was—” 

“My mom never really liked the fall that much when she was you know, still around. Winter was more of her thing. The cold and crackling fires. She made our winters bearable, close to wonderful.” 

The park echoed a steady silence as if it heard Katara. 

There wasn’t really anything interesting about feet crunching on fallen leaves, anyway, Zuko thinks. 

“Katara…I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know about your mother.” 

She gives a small accepting smile, a practiced one. “It’s fine. It’s been years. Everything’s just different now, you know.” 

His exile, annoying loneliness, and an unrelenting tug of guilt fill Zuko. 

Perhaps, they were both alone in more ways than one. 

* * *

The needle stung the insides of Zuko’s forearm. 

It was an endless string of  _ bzzt, bzzt, bzzt,  _ but eventually, Zuko learned to block the pain out and focus on what was being branded on his skin: their family’s crest. 

It looked simple in red ink—the three-pronged flame.

It was more like a burning teardrop and Zuko thought it was appropriate. 

His father’s pride put him through grief so many times, but now that he was permanently reminding himself of the herculean task that was bestowed upon him. There was no backing out. 

Although the tattoo was small lying near his wrist, it was easily in his constant point-of-view. If there was a time that Zuko needed to be motivated to fulfill his duty, it was now. 

He was getting soft and he hated himself for it. 

But he can see the obvious sadness in  _ her  _ and he can’t help but think of himself. 

It was infuriating how his thoughts race when he’s with her, how he wants to tell her his agony, but he stops himself and his mind goes blank. 

Moments like those in the park remind him that he hasn’t let anyone in for so long, pushing people away had become second nature to him. 

He doesn’t mind being by himself, he just wished someone took time to notice that sometimes, he wished it didn’t have to be that way. 

* * *

It’s not like Katara doesn’t try. 

She really does. 

There were attempts at purposefully leaving her apron undone, not taking out the trash, and bumping into the only other person in the kitchen, but nothing worked. 

Katara just can’t seem to get through to Zuko. 

Even during the times when he’s usually more chipper, his head seemed to be in another place altogether. 

And that’s when she notices the tattoo on his wrist that her world stills. 

“Where’d you get that?” She demands. 

“My tattoo? In the shop right next to the—” 

“Why?” 

A slow panic creeps over Katara. 

“You’re  _ them, _ aren’t you?” 

“Katara, I’m not sure I know what you mean.” 

“They worked for the man who had that imprint.” Katara lets out an unsteady breath. “That symbol. Before they died, my parents had some business with this man named Ozai.” 

Zuko took a step back and covered his scabbing tattoo. 

“Your parents knew Ozai?” He asked. 

“They knew Ozai, alright. They knew him well enough to die.” 

A cold gust of wind made the kitchen bell chime on its own, filling the silence. 

“Why, Zuko, do you have that symbol on your arm?” 

There were so many ways to explain. But Zuko took the easiest one, the biggest lie. 

“I just saw it somewhere and thought it looked cool. I’m sorry if I upset you, Katara. I really didn’t mean to.” 

Katara noticed that he immediately put his hand in his pocket. Working with Zuko long enough, she was certain he was about to take a luxurious break and come back a little bit more upbeat than usual. 

A part of her wishes that he won’t come back at all. 

* * *

A few days pass and Katara barely spoke to or even looked at Zuko. 

She steered clear of him whenever she was in the kitchen, taking more time during her breaks which pissed him off since he had to attend to the customers and prepare orders without her help. 

But he understands. 

He can’t tell her. 

He would be delusional to think that she would understand that he is Ozai’s heir, that he _will _have blood on his hands, but he was just unsure whose it will be. 

But the emblem? 

It was stupid of him to think that nobody will notice and make the correlation. 

Sooner or later, Katara will find out about Zuko’s bloodline. 

And she will hate him for it. 

At the moment, Zuko knew that Katara was the least of his concerns. 

He had to find the woman with the moon. 

God knows what that meant, but he remembers his father’s booming voice telling him to “find the woman with the moon symbol and kill her. Kill them all.” 

Them? 

Killing one person was hard enough. 

But plural? 

Zuko wasn’t a butcher. His hands don’t know of slaughter. 

He can’t possibly deny his father’s request. Not now when he knows he’s close to finding her…or them. 

Zuko touches the scabs that were forming on his arm. 

It looked more ghastly than when it was ringed with blood, fresh from the needle. 

Not that it would matter, anyway. 

There was more blood to come, this is just the beginning. 


	6. beach walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
Aside from the muck and grime, Ba Sing Se boasts of a dirty thing called forgiveness, Katara knows this much.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to personal reasons, this chapter is half a year late and is now published in the middle of a pandemic.  
  
the times? well, it's just rough, buddy.  
  
hope you like it! comments and kudos are appreciated!

Aside from the muck and grime, Ba Sing Se boasts of a dirty thing called forgiveness, Katara knows this much. 

Another thing that is privy to her is the fact Uncle Iroh always goes out to play Pai Sho with his friends, the White Lotus as he calls it, every Thursday night. 

Katara knows that maybe she was being too hard on Zuko about the whole tattoo situation—maybe it was really an innocent piece of permanent ink on his skin, maybe he was worth the benefit of the doubt. 

Even if things didn’t settle well with her, she might have some reason to give him a second chance. 

It was pretty obvious to her that a hardcore stoner can’t possibly be a killer, much more, a member of the family that killed her parents. 

Iroh and Zuko’s apartment was quiet. There was just a lonely light in their living room, a small yellow dot above the shop sign. 

Katara looked up from where she was standing on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. 

The nasty thing about forgiveness is that once you’ve come to terms that someone is worthy of it, you can’t take the feeling back. 

* * *

The knock on the door startles Zuko out of his weary haze. 

He smokes to forget, to lose himself in a state wherein nothing matters; not even a knock on the door. 

But he ordered pizza and the delivery guy must have sped through the neighborhood because he wasn’t due to disturb Zuko’s peace in another ten minutes. 

“Zuko, are you home?” 

An all-too-familiar voice calls out from behind the door. 

Zuko wonders, “Why  _ now?”  _ and “why  _ her?”  _

He was supposed to spend his night of solace lazily eating pizza while watching knife-making videos alone.  _ Alone.  _

Being alone doesn’t involve Katara knocking on the front door three times in a row just to make sure that he gets his stoned ass up from his bedroom floor to let her in. 

He does, anyway. 

“What do you  _ want, _ Katara?” He barely tries to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

Katara lets his animosity slide. “Can I come in?” And walks right past Zuko into the apartment without waiting for a reply. 

Zuko can’t help but catch a whiff of something close to the smell of a walk on the beach when Katara passes by—the sun, the salty breeze, and a hint of tanning oil. Not that he ever used tanning oil, but he recalls that his sister, Azula, tried so hard to summon a tan on her porcelain pale skin during his last summer at home. 

He was a completely different person during that summer three years ago—a person he would never get to meet once again because something inside him died that day. 

But he isn’t dead now, is he? 

Because if he were, he wouldn’t have noticed Katara just waltz into his room where his Momo paraphernalia was scattered all over the floor and on his bed. 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t question him at all about it. She didn’t even flinch when she saw the pipe and the tube of concentrated oil. 

Zuko silently thanks himself for hiding the metal lighter with his family’s crest in his Coca-Cola tin box a few days ago. The guilt and anger that filled him whenever he lit a joint with it were unbearable. So he slipped back into his old ways and hid it where he will never see it yet still be constantly reminded by his failure. 

“I ordered some pizza if you’re hungry. It should be here soon,” Zuko says, trying to find an easy way to find out what Katara wanted so she can get the fuck out of his room. 

Katara was still taking up the emptiness of Zuko’s room. It was at its barebones—just an ornamental rug hanging on the space above his bed and some red Coca-Cola tin boxes of various shapes and sizes on the shelf near the door. Aside from these, there was only a bed, a desk, a chair, and a beat-up bean bag. Otherwise, the room was lifeless and empty. 

The tin boxes were the most color in the room which was mostly in black and white. Black headboard, white sheets, and then the Coca-Cola cherry red pops out of nowhere. 

“I’ve been a jerk to you these past few days. I’m sorry.” Katara finally says. 

Forgiveness was an unfamiliar concept to Zuko. 

He was fine living the rest of his life knowing that Katara would never interact with him or even acknowledge his presence. He wouldn’t put it past people to just forget about him…his own father was a testament to that. 

For whatever he has to regain, Zuko was sure whatever Katara was offering him—a second chance?—was something he should consider. 

Zuko mindlessly picks up the pipe and checks for blockages in the airway inside. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal,” was his reply. 

He would be caught dead if he told her that something inside him constricted with pain every time he caught her looking at him as if  _ he  _ were the one who killed her parents, as if…their blood was also on his hands. 

_ Were they?  _

“Look, I know I haven’t been the easiest person to work with but thanks for being patient with me,” Zuko catches himself saying. He wasn’t sure where that came from but there’s a part of him that was sure he was sincere in saying that. 

Katara, who was standing the whole time, finally sits down on the floor beside him. 

“It’s the least I could do. You always seem so…lost, I guess.” 

Zuko just stares at her, not knowing what to say at her bluntness. No one really tells him things like this. Maybe being the heir of Ozai’s empire made people afraid of hurting his feelings. 

Things are different now. 

Obviously. 

“I guess ‘lost’ is a good way to put it,” Zuko involuntarily lets out a scoff, “A lot has changed in the past few years, I’m not even sure that I can keep up.” 

“Does that explain the smoking?” 

Zuko slowly drops the pipe to the floor. “Partly, yes. Among other things, I guess.” 

“You know, you can always talk to me, Zuko. We may not have gotten off to a good start but we can always try again, can’t we?” 

She’s looking at him sincerely, here deep blue eyes radiating grace under the moonlight that was filtering through the window. 

She looks different somehow, softer. 

“We can try,” he says, as he lets out the faintest of smiles. 

Gratitude and grace were so foreign to him now, he can’t imagine what kind of horror will come from this moment of respite from reality. 

But he feels the stillness, the soft hum of Katara’s breathing, and the rapid hammering on his chest—like a raging bull striking his rib cage repeatedly before charging again. 

She didn’t have to be so nice to him. 

She  _ shouldn’t  _ be. 

This was going to make things more difficult, but Zuko knew nothing was ever easy for him. 

Her kindness was a weapon. Zuko knows he should be aware of that. 

Kindness isn’t freely given without getting something in return, but is it always like that? 

Maybe kindness is sitting on the floor beside you while you’re high as fuck. Maybe kindness is a waft of sea breeze drifting across your room in shitty Ba Sing Se. 

Maybe kindness also deserves a second chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter is even shorter! than usual but please bear with me, we're getting our groove back on!
> 
> [ps maybe consider following me](https://undderwires.tumblr.com/)


	7. slow down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
Zuko’s idea of a lazy afternoon definitely wasn’t having corndogs and a quick catch-up with the last two people he would have chosen to share his time with. But then again, he wouldn’t have chosen _anyone_ to get into his personal space at any given time.  


Before the rise of the greedy businessmen, drug rings, and self-serving politicians, there was no lake in the middle of Ba Sing Se. 

Before the prostitution, crime, and illicit substances, Ba Sing Se’s only body of water was forgotten until it transformed into brownish muck that ran down the sink. 

The only thing that was crystal clear in Ba Sing Se was the fact that if you didn’t know how to swim against the current of the city, you were definitely going to sink to death. 

* * *

Toph wishes she knew what color of blue the lake was, or if it was even blue in the first place. 

Sure, she’d sat on the uncomfortable benches lining the perimeter of the lake in the park one too many times during transactions, but she just hoped someone would describe it accurately to her. 

Aang once told her it was as blue as the sky on a cloudless day. 

Then, Sokka vehemently disagreed immediately after and said that it was like mud on the ground during a rainstorm—gross and slimy. 

Toph was just too tired to reiterate the fact that she had never seen the sky, clouds, nor mud. 

_ Ever. _

It didn’t matter much to her now, though. 

Her only interest in the lake was that it was home to turtle-ducks that nipped at her fingers when she would accidentally stand too close to the edge of the water. 

Aside from that, she didn’t care if the lake was real or not. 

A familiar crunch on the mix of sand and gravel near the lake’s shore reminded her of why she was contemplating whether the water was safe enough for the turtle-ducks to swim in—her most loyal customer had summoned her for his weekly supply of Momo. 

The boy, whoever he was, was the broody sort. 

He had a low, scratchy voice, nimble feet, and quick reflexes. 

Sometimes, Toph wondered if he was blind too because he seemed too cautious of everything all at the same time. 

But then that would mean he’d never find her in the midst of the park-goers. 

So she settled with the thought that he was the broody, lonely sort—the type of customer that was either running away from something or throttling himself straight into shit. 

Toph guesses that it was a bit of both. 

The boy, whoever he was, would always arrive on the dot and casually sit beside her, close enough to hand her the cash notes that were made specifically for the deals (thanks to Aang), so that he can also easily return the baggie in case he feels that the contents were not enough to be paid for. 

Thankfully, he always got what he bargained for. Plus, he was never the fussy type to deal with. 

The only difference between the time the boy sat down and the time he left was the presence of the baggie in Toph’s pockets. 

_ Yip, yip. _

As soon as the code was said, Toph knew her business here was over. 

The boy was also getting ready to leave, he’d usually fumble with the ziplock in his jacket pocket before finally disappearing to god knows where. 

She poised her legs to get up and leave, whilst getting a proper grasp of the energies in her surroundings when Katara calls out to her. 

Her hands were still in the middle of tucking the cash notes in her pocket. 

“Toph! I got us some corndogs. They’re still hot!” A voice called out. 

Before Toph could reply, Katara called out again, “Hey, Zuko! What are you doing here?” 

Toph could feel the boy quickly tense and his nervousness was completely palpable. 

The boy, who was apparently named Zuko, immediately stood up and tried to regain composure but it was all a front. Toph could hear the way the sand-gravel shifted because of the unbalanced weight on his feet. 

_ Fear. _

She never realized that her best customer was afraid of being caught…by _ Katara, _ no less. 

The park was always under surveillance with the hints of the watchful eyes of Police Commander Zhao’s men who seem to drift in and out of the consciousness of the people who would visit the lake. 

_ This must mean they know each other, _Toph thinks. 

The greasy steam from the freshly-fried corndogs wafted close to Toph’s nose and she gratefully took two sticks from Katara. She was famished, after all. 

“What are you doing here, Zuko?” Katara asked the boy again. 

“I, uh, just wanted to walk around and visit the lake,” he replied. 

A good customer but such a bad liar, Toph was sure of that. 

“Do you know Toph? You’re both sitting on the same bench. Did you just meet each other today?” Katara continued prodding the boy. 

Toph gave a small smile before deciding to relieve him from his deplorable state of nerves. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

“Here, I have an extra corndog that you can have, Zuko. Why don’t you join Toph and I for a little while?” 

“S-sure. I can stay,” the boy replied awkwardly as he sat back down on the bench where he just scored a new batch of Momo. 

* * *

How he ended up having an afternoon snack with his drug dealer and his co-worker was something Zuko was trying to still wrap his head around on. 

He was still reeling from the fact that Katara knew his drug dealer, Toph—much less the fact that they were roommates. 

Zuko’s idea of a lazy afternoon definitely wasn’t having corndogs and a quick catch-up with the last two people he would have chosen to share his time with. But then again, he wouldn’t have chosen _ anyone _to get into his personal space at any given time. 

It’s funny how pleasantries end up getting you an extra gram of Momo—thanks to a slip of the hand from his dealer—_ and _ an invitation to have dinner at Katara and Toph’s apartment. 

Zuko was sure he was on one hell of a trip because he was worlds away from thinking that it would be possible to perhaps start having…_ friends. _

In shitty Ba Sing Se, no less. 

But he didn’t want to get too ahead of himself because expectation only breeds disappointment, that much he has learned. 

The apartment that Katara and Toph shared wasn’t as bare as Zuko’s room. 

It was bright and well-decorated to show how lived-in it was and that, well, its tenants were quite happy with where they rested their heads every night. 

It wasn't that Zuko was unhappy about living with his kind uncle. It was the feeling that he was somewhere he _ wasn't _even supposed to be in that always got to him. Like his world was constantly changing and rearranging itself to inconvenience him in the smallest ways possible.

On the way back to the apartment, Katara made sure that they bought food for everyone that wasn’t “cooked in some scientist’s lab.” Up to now, Zuko wasn’t sure he understood what she meant but he was glad that they got some chicken and noodles. 

“Ah yes, _ normal _ people food. Finally,” were Katara’s words when they hauled the two plastic bags of food out of the restaurant they were at. 

Funnily enough, when the three of them arrived in the apartment, it was already occupied by a bald teenager with tattoos who welcomed them with a cheery smile and even approached Zuko and hugged him without asking for permission.

The boy, Aang, helped them lay out the food on the kitchen counter and even volunteered to set the plates on the dinner table. 

“Aang, where’s Sokka?” Katara asked as they were about to finish setting the table. 

“He’s busy in the bathroom taking a shower. The water heater in the apartment broke so we haven’t really had a decent bath this week,” he replied. 

There was a comfortable lull while waiting for Katara’s brother. 

Toph moved towards the indoor plants to tend to them. 

Meanwhile, Katara and Aang were busy making apple juice in the kitchen. 

Zuko went over to where Toph and the indoor plants were and asked in a low voice, “So does Katara know you’re my dealer?” 

Toph stops touching one of the leaves of the potted palms. “Katara knows what she needs to know.” She pauses, trying to feel what Zuko’s reaction was. 

“If you’re asking if she’s okay with the whole operation, then yes. Whatever keeps food on the table and pays the rent,” she continues. 

A door slams shut somewhere in the apartment, catching everyone’s attention. 

A boy in a towel, presumably Katara’s brother, Sokka, waltzes into the kitchen. 

Before Zuko realizes what was happening, Sokka lunges at him and tries to grapple his neck. 

“How could you? You’re _ them! _How dare you step foot in this household?” Sokka shouted. 

Among all the pleasantries and introductions that Zuko has encountered to this day, he was sure that this hostility from Sokka must have been merited. 

Zuko was trying to push Sokka away, albeit in shock when he notices the sole reason why Sokka was being so antagonistic towards him. 

Just as he was about to shove Sokka away one more time, Zuko catches a quick glance at the tattoo above his hipbone which had a circular blue crest with waves embedded on it. 

Zuko knows that crest. 

Zuko’s father knows that crest. 

Zuko’s father knows the people who belonged to the operation that was founded with that crest…the people who _ died _for it. 

At this moment, it wasn’t the relief that his search to regain his honor which overflowed through him. 

“You son of a bitch! You assholes killed our parents!” 

Aang and Toph were restraining Sokka while Katara just stood in the corner in shock. 

A painstaking realization washed over Zuko—his mission was to kill Sokka and Katara. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope this update makes up for my severe lack of consistency lmao
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
[ps maybe consider following me](https://undderwires.tumblr.com/)


	8. monomania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
But as things have panned out, Zuko got too lax, too comfortable with his present circumstances that he forgot his banishment and his quest to regain his honor.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor character death

_ “Don’t you dare come back home until you find and kill them.” _

Ozai’s words rang in Zuko’s ears like an incessant drum. 

Everything was a pitiful sight to him—Toph and Aang were still restraining Sokka’s hands from behind his back and Katara was just staring at Zuko like he was holding a knife against her throat. 

He should have been, could have been. She wouldn’t even notice the difference, anyway. 

But as things have panned out, Zuko got too lax, too comfortable with his present circumstances that he forgot his banishment and his quest to regain his honor. 

To be fair, Zuko reminded himself that prior to this moment, he did not have any leads as to _ who _his father had sent him out to kill. 

He only knew the back story—that a man named Hakoda and his wife from a rival gang, The Water Tribe, infiltrated Ozai’s drug ring in Caldera and when Ozai found out, he brought down hell upon them. 

Ozai didn’t even bother knowing what their purpose was for pretending to be people they were not but in the end, their stolen identities were what saved their children…who apparently were Sokka and Katara. 

Back then it was Admiral Zhao who was heading the investigation in Caldera. The police report’s only findings were that the two victims didn’t die without a fight. 

One of the police photos that Ozai’s men were able to steal showed the mangled bodies lying on the floor. Both had a noticeable mark on them—blue ink tattoos with waves that were enclosed in a circle. 

Months had passed but Ozai’s fury had not dissipated. He wanted all loose ends to be snuffed out and that included Hakoda and his wife’s family. 

_ Children. _

His father’s ruthlessness both amazed and terrified Zuko. How could mere children have anything to do with Ozai’s mess? 

* * *

“Get out, you son of a bitch!” 

Sokka was livid and his thirst to avenge his parents was more palpable than ever. 

He can’t, for the life of him, imagine how cruel the world was—how his sister worked with the son of his parents’ murderer, how Katara and Toph even invited Zuko into their apartment, and how Zuko seemed to look like he was innocent throughout all of this. 

For the first time, Sokka thought of Katara. 

She looked shocked at the corner where she was standing. Her eyes gave away her helplessness and Sokka could feel her pain. 

It was his pain too, anyway. 

While Katara may be feeling betrayed, Sokka was just simply too angry beyond words. 

But it wasn’t time for him to think about himself and his feelings alone. 

As soon as Toph and Aang relaxed their grip on him, he rushed towards Katara, not minding the sorry fact that he should have put his clothes on before exiting the bathroom, but it’s too late for that. 

It was comical how cruel the world was and Sokka never knew he could feel so much spite in one go. 

But he did. 

And he knew his sister felt this in her own way, too. 

“Katara…” 

He tried to conjure up words but honestly, Sokka couldn’t even begin to comprehend how words could sum up what he wanted to say to Katara to comfort her. 

Maybe there were no words at all. 

A few minutes passed and a dead, sick silence fell upon the living room. 

Aang busied himself by knotting and unknotting his hands as quickly as possible like he was playing a game with himself to avoid the awkwardness that he was now a part of. 

Toph, on the other hand, went back to her plants and Zuko was standing next to her sheepishly. The two were discussing things in hushed tones and the only thing Sokka could hear audibly was Toph saying, “Zuko, you should go.” 

Without saying another word, Zuko got his jacket and left the room as quietly as he can, not even bothering to glance at the others. Not even Katara. 

“Katara…” 

Sokka tried again. 

But there really wasn’t anything for him to say, he just wanted to appear like he knew the right words to say to his sister, but he was as lost as she was. 

Maybe even more lost. 

“I’m going out for a walk. Don’t bother looking for me,” Katara said. 

“He’s out there, you know. Just be careful, Katara.” 

Katara gave a curt nod towards her brother and left the room. 

* * *

The extra gram of Momo proved to be helpful to Zuko as he sat under a tree that was situated in one of the far corners of the park. 

There was no view of the lake where he was, just empty benches and birdfeeders that were currently occupied by its famished visitors. 

The huff and puff motions didn’t seem to appease his current mood. 

Everything felt like it had imploded exponentially on him as the world forbade him from experiencing any respite from misery. 

If only he could tell Katara why his banishment was a bane to his existence… 

If only he could tell Sokka that he was on _ their _side… 

But as things were, he would never have the opportunity to do either of those things. 

Today was his second banishment. 

The first was from his father’s approval. Love was never on the table when it came to Zuko, at least in Ozai’s eyes. That was certain. 

But the second banishment, here in Ba Sing Se, where his uncle showed him respect and dignity, where he found people who welcomed him…well, at least he could still come back to Uncle Iroh. 

Zuko found it ironic that the first semblance of finally being accepted was quickly snatched away from him. But he knew he should have expected things to turn from bad to horseshit in the first place. 

The world never stopped for him, why would it give him a break now? 

* * *

Katara found herself dazedly walking through the crowds without any plan nor destination. 

For some reason, she ended up in front of the lake. 

She sat on the sand-gravel and disrupted the stillness of the water before her with the tips of her fingers. 

She absent-mindedly ran her hand across the surface of the water, as if she could move it by just thinking about the act. 

But there was no such thing. 

In Katara’s world, her parents are dead and there was no magic that was going to bring them back. 

There were no saviors or miracles or prayers that could restore what once was. 

Time seemed to still as Katara gazed at the moon from the edge of the lake. 

However long she was there, Katara didn’t notice until there was a sound from the sand-gravel shifting under someone’s weight behind her. 

After a few short moments, Zuko appeared and sat beside Katara. 

He just sat there without saying anything to her, lighting his pipe once in a while. 

Just as he was about to take another hit from his pipe, Katara snatched it from him and took a long drag of Momo. 

She coughed but regained her composure after the heaving stopped. 

“Did you come to Ba Sing Se to kill us?” She asked, still staring directly at the moon above the lake. 

Zuko bowed his head. “No. I was banished from Caldera by my father. I came here with my uncle to get away from everything” 

Katara didn’t move to acknowledge what he said. 

“I…I would never do anything to harm you, Katara. My father put me on exile for me to get my shit together but for him, it meant tying the loose ends of your parents’ murder for him: you and Sokka. But I would never hurt you, believe me. I didn’t even know you were Hakoda’s children…I only pieced things together the moment I saw your brother’s tattoo. That was the only clue that I had going into my father’s impossible mission.” 

Katara scoffed. “Killing isn’t impossible if it’s already been done before.” 

“I’m not my father, Katara. I hope you believe that.” 

Without waiting for her reply, he got up and walked away. 

The lake seemed restless and alive the longer Katara stared at it. 

She started dipping her fingers in and out of the water, then without invitation, tears started to well up in her eyes and run across her cheeks. 

Katara felt the same grief that she had when she heard the news about her parents. 

How Sokka turned from a boy to a man that day, fending off the ills of the world for his sister and how she tried to believe that there was still some good in the world despite everything else telling her that there wasn’t any left. 

She felt the same confusion, anger, and exasperation that she felt all those years ago. 

But this time, she knew that if there was hope, she was the only person who could give it to herself. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update came quickly! let's hope I keep this up!!


	9. chiaroscuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
At first, Zuko was stunned at Katara’s nonchalance about the whole situation, then he was somewhat certain that this was all a ruse for an elaborate plot for revenge.  
  
Whatever it was, he’d just have to wait and see.   


It was almost midnight in the sluggish city of Ba Sing Se.

The lonely streetlamps illuminate the Jasmine Dragon’s facade as the nearby shops prepare for closing time. 

For some reason, the steady stream of customers filled the tables inside the city’s favorite tea shop as if each belly that entered it was eager and thirsty for some warmth nestled in a porcelain cup. 

It all made sense to Zuko—the falling snow blanketed the streets so that the light from the streetlamps reflected in the grayish mush on the ground. It made sense that the slip-and-slide of his footsteps as he threw the trash at the back of the shop made the dull task even more unbearable. 

It all made sense because things were the way they were supposed to be…except for how Katara was behaving. 

Everything about her seemed odd and out of place because she was acting as if nothing was wrong—as if Zuko was not the hunter and she was not like a sitting duck during hunting season. 

The past few days drew themselves out painfully. 

Not only because the customers were more demanding than usual because of the freezing temperature outside, but also because Katara was still talking to Zuko, sometimes even making jokes about how the whole city would freeze to death if not for Uncle Iroh’s special tea blends. 

At first, Zuko was stunned at Katara’s nonchalance about the whole situation, then he was somewhat certain that this was all a ruse for an elaborate plot for revenge. 

Whatever it was, he’d just have to wait and see. 

* * *

In an ideal world, Iroh wouldn’t have had to pluck himself out of his close to perfect life in Ba Sing Se just to relay news about Hokoda’s children to his younger brother, Ozai. 

In an ideal world, he would still be living in Caldera where it was warm and sunny, where drinking tea always resulted in sweat beading up on his forehead; not this beyond oppressive chill, but whatever the weather was, whether sweat-inducing or mind-numbing, tea was always the answer. 

Iroh always liked the sight of the tea leaves blooming in the large pots that he laid out on the kitchen stoves in his tea shop. It was like seeing the flowers bloom in front of him. 

The crunch of his and Zuko’s boots on the slippery snow was the only sound in the quiet neighborhood as they locked up the shop. 

“Zuko, I have something to tell you,” Iroh starts. 

“You have to go back to Caldera, don’t you, Uncle?” Zuko’s voice was flat in a matter-of-fact way as he said this. 

Iroh nodded his head gravely. “Strict orders from your father. He said that if any news about the murder came up, I have to deliver the details personally.” 

“How did you find out, Uncle?” 

“My dear nephew…I have always known.” 

Because of Ozai’s ruthlessness and stubbornness, Iroh was forced into the “family business.” And as much as he was reluctant to supply the expansive clientele of his brother’s operations, he was cornered in a fight or flight situation. And everyone knows there was no fighting Drug Lord Ozai. Not in this lifetime. 

So when Hokoda and his wife joined the force, Iroh was tasked to keep an eye on them, sometimes being required to find out as much as he can about the couple. 

Of course, it wasn’t a crime to keep things to himself. Iroh disliked the way that he was faced with the choice of either lying to his brother or handing the couple into their own doom. 

It wasn’t until an operation turned south that the whole masquerade which they had put up for months was revealed—that they were Water Tribe spies who were tasked to bring down Ozai’s empire. 

In the end, it wasn’t Iroh who handed them over to Ozai’s wrath, but their own miscalculation: the price of moving up the ranks was to lose something important to you. Usually, it required material possessions as an “investment,” but in some cases, a sacrifice much greater than that was needed to prove your loyalty to the empire. 

Iroh was there that night. 

Iroh was there to hide the two children before the mercenaries came barging into Hokoda’s house. 

Iroh was there to provide whatever necessities the children needed for the past few years, not out of guilt, but because this was his way of resisting his brother’s cruelty and fear-mongering. 

Zuko immediately stopped turning the key to lock the shop doors. “So you’re going to tell father about Katara and Sokka?” 

Iroh was silent. It seemed unfair to his nephew that such a weight was on his shoulders—the information that he could regain his honor at the expense of his friend and her brother. The old man sighed, Zuko didn’t deserve any of the ills that have befallen him his whole life. Back then and even now, it was just too much for a child to bear. 

“No, Zuko.” Iroh drew out a breath. “I am only a messenger, not the executor. The only thing I will tell your father is that there has been news that the children are alive and are residing in Ba Sing Se. No more, no less. It is not my duty to hand over innocent lives to my brother’s cruelty.” 

Zuko let out a sigh of relief and faced his uncle. “Father will eventually find out that you’ve been keeping vital information from him, Uncle. What will you do when that happens?” 

“Come what may, Zuko. Come what may,” was Iroh’s only reply. 

* * *

Winter has always held a special place in Katara’s heart. 

It was a winter night when she last saw her mother and father before the masked man took her and Sokka away, before the news of their death the next morning spread like wildfire in the whole city. 

But before that, all her winters were spent with her mother inside their house cooking, cleaning, and dancing while singing their favorite songs. 

Those days seem like a lifetime ago. 

Maybe they were. 

Katara had spent too many nights crying herself to sleep thinking that she can never sing the same way again, or at least, not any time soon. 

Now, winter nights left a bittersweet taste in her mouth—the recollection of the past was too painful to bear because now, there was only loss. What once was will never be again. 

She knows she’ll forever be grateful for Sokka. He had to grow up so quickly for the both of them as fast as he could. How he was able to conjure up money for food and rent during the first few months that they fled to Ba Sing Se, Katara could never bring herself to ask her brother. 

Her brother was the only family she had left. 

Despite this, she also had Toph and Aang to call home. 

Katara looked outside the apartment window where the snow was falling peacefully. 

Maybe if she just learned to open herself up to what  _ is,  _ she’ll find the missing parts of herself that she was looking for. 

Not that she was broken or empty, but she sensed an insatiable hunger to just  _ be  _ more, to take up more space and not apologize for it. 

For now, as she rested her elbows on the window sill, an unfamiliar drumming against the back of her throat started.

The smallest, quietest of hums drew itself out of Katara. 

It wasn’t singing, but it was the closest she ever got to stringing her voice beautifully again. 

For a while, she just stood still, looked out the window to bask in the feeling—the vibrations bouncing across the walls of her throat and the contentedness she had long forgotten. 

Perhaps it was a song that she heard on the radio she was humming. 

She didn’t know the words or the melody to it, but it just flowed out of her, sweetly and softly. 

Perhaps just this once, winter would be something to look forward to again for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maaaaa, we updated thrice! within a week!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hoped you liked it! Comments and kudos are much appreciated!
> 
> Written with the help of my lovely beta, [zokens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zokens) / [zutarasvengers](https://twitter.com/zutarasvengers)  
  
[ps maybe consider following me](https://undderwires.tumblr.com/)


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